Comanche Moon ld-4

by Larry McMurtry

  After his day of hopping and jumping, raging and gibbering, clawing at the walls and spewing fragments of old orations and Greek verse, Inish Scull settled himself as comfortably as he could against the wall of the pit and did nothing. He wished he had the will to stop his breath, but he didn't. Whether he wanted it or not, his breath came. It was a bright day; to look up at all with his lidless eyes was to invite the sun into his brain. Instead, he kept his head down. His hair was long enough to make a fair shade. He wanted to let go the habit of fighting, to die in calmness. He remembered again the Buddhist, sitting calmly in his orange robes by the Charles River. He had no orange robes, he was not a Buddhist, he was a Scull, Captain Inish Scull. He thought he had fought well in every war he had been able to find, but now was the day of surrender, the day when he had to snap the sword of his will, to cease all battling and be quiet, be calm; then, finally, would come the moment when his breath would stop.

  Call and Gus were moving cautiously into the canyon of the Yellow Cliffso when a great bird rose suddenly from behind a little cluster of desert mesquite. Five more rose as well, great bald vultures, so close to the two men that their horses shied.

  "I hope it wasn't the Captain they're eating," Augustus said. "It'd be a pity to come all this way and lose him to the buzzards." "It wasn't the Captain," Call said--through the thin bushes he glimpsed what was left of the body of an old woman. The vultures were reluctant to leave. Two lit on boulders nearby, while the shadows of the others flickered across the little clearing where the body lay.

  "Must have been a cougar, to rip her up like that," Gus said. "Would a cougar do that?" "I guess one did," Call said. "See the tracks? He was a big one." They dismounted and inspected the area for a few minutes, while the vultures wheeled overhead.

  "I've never seen a lion track that big," Augustus commented.

  A rawhide rope lay not far from the corpse.

  "Why would an old woman be way out here alone?" Gus wondered. "All she had was this rope. Where was she going?" "I guess we could pile some rocks on her," Call said. "I hate just to leave a body laying out." "Woodrow, she's mostly et anyway," Gus said. "Why spoil the buzzards' picnic?" "I know, but it's best to bury people," Call said. "I believe she was crippled--look at her hip." While they were heaping rocks on the corpse Call got an uneasy feeling. He couldn't say what prompted it.

  "Something's here, I don't know what," he said, when they resumed their cautious ride into the canyon.

  "It might be that cougar, hoping for another old woman," Gus said.

  A few moments later, Augustus saw the jaguar. He was not as convinced as Call that Ahumado and his men had left, and was scanning the rocky ledges above them, looking for any sign of life. Probably if the old bandit had gone, he would have left a rear guard. He didn't want to be ambushed, as they had been the first time they entered the Yellow Canyon, and he took particular care to scan the higher ledges, where a rifleman could hide and get off an easy shot.

  On one of the higher ledges he saw something that didn't register clearly with his eye. There was something there that was hard to see--he stopped his horse to take a longer look and when he did the jaguar stepped into full view.

  "Woodrow, look up there," he said.

  Call could not immediately see the jaguar, but then the animal moved and he saw him clearly.

  "I think it's a jaguar," Augustus said.

  "I never expected to see one." "I imagine that's what got the old woman," Call said.

  For a moment, surprised, they were content to watch the jaguar, but their mounts were far from content. They put up their ears and snorted; they wanted to run but the rangers held them steady.

  The jaguar stood on the rocky ledge, looking down at them.

  "Do you think you can get off a shot?" Call asked. "If we don't kill it, it might get one of these horses, when it comes nightfall." Augustus began to lift his rifle out of the scabbard. Though both men were watching the jaguar, neither saw it leave. It was simply gone. By the time Augustus raised his rifle there was nothing to shoot.

  "He's gone--it's bad news for the horses," Call said.

  "I'll never forget seeing him," Augustus said. "He acted like he owned the world." "I expect he does--th world, at least," Call said. "I've never seen an animal just disappear like that." All afternoon, as they worked their way carefully through the narrow canyon, they often looked upward, hoping for another glimpse of the jaguar--but the jaguar was seen no more.

  "Just because we don't see him don't mean he's not following us," Call said. "We have to keep the horses close tonight." Suddenly the canyon opened into the space they remembered from the time they were ambushed. The cliffso above them were pitted with holes and little caves. They stopped for a few minutes, examining the caves closely, looking for the glint of a rifle barrel or any sign of life.

  But they saw nothing, only some eagles soaring across the face of the cliff.

  "We ought to walk in, but we can't leave the horses," Call said. "That jaguar might be following us." "I think this camp is deserted," Augustus said. "I think we came too late." They rode slowly into the deserted camp, a sandy place, empty, windy. Only a ring of cold campfires and a few scraps of tenting were left to indicate that people in some numbers had once camped there.

  Besides the tenting and the campfires there was one other thing that suggested the presence of humans: the skinning post, with a crossbar at the top, from which a badly decomposed, mangled, and half-eaten corpse still hung.

  "Oh my Lord," Augustus said. He could barely stand to look at the corpse, and yet he couldn't look away.

  "They say Ahumado had people skinned, if he didn't like them," Call said. "I supposed it was just talk, but I guess it was true." "I ain't piling no rocks on that," Gus said emphatically. The bloated thing hanging from the crossbar skinning post bore little resemblance now to anything human.

  "I'll pass myself, this time," Call said.

  He did not want to go near the stinking thing on the post.

  In the pit, not far from where the two rangers stood, Inish Scull had slipped into a half sleep. Many times he had dreamed of rescue, so many that now, when he heard the voices of Call and McCrae, in his half sleep, he discounted the ^ws. They were just more dream voices; he would not let them tempt him into hope.

  "We ought to search these caves," Call said.

  "They might have had the Captain here. If we could find a scrap of his uniform or his belt or something at least it would be a thing we could take to his wife." "You look in the caves, Woodrow," Gus said. "I'll stand guard, in case that jaguar shows up." "All right," Call said.

  As Call started for the largest of the caves at the base of the cliff, Augustus noticed the pit.

  Because of the shadows stretching out from the pit it had been hard to see from where they entered the camp.

  Curious, Augustus took a step or two closer--a stench hit him, but a stench less powerful than that which came from the swollen black flesh hanging from the skinning post. He stepped to the edge of the pit--f the stench it seemed to him that the pit might be a place where Ahumado tossed his dead. It could be that Captain Scull's body might be there; or what was left of it.

  He looked into the pit but did not at first see the small, almost naked man sitting with his head bent down in the shadows near one wall of the pit.

  Augustus saw some dead snakes, a broken cage, and a mound of dirt with the dirt not piled thickly enough to shut out the stench of death. He was about to turn away, disappointed, when the man sitting against the wall suddenly rolled two white lidless eyes up at him from beneath a long dirty mat of hair.

  "Oh Lord! Woodrow .

  Woodrowffwas Gus yelled.

  Call, almost at the entrance to the first cave, turned at once and came running back.

  "We found him, Woodrow! It's the Captainffwas Augustus said.

  Inish Scull was still in his half sleep, listening listlessly to the dream voices, when he felt a shadow slant across the pit. With
his eyes exposed he registered shadows even when he was looking down or trying to shield his eyes. If a vulture or an eagle soared above the camp he saw its shadow.

  But the shadow that slanted across the pit was not a shadow made by a bird's wings. Scull saw a man looking at him from the edge of the pit; the man looked like the ranger Augustus McCrae. At the sight, panic stormed Scull's nerves again.

  He vowed to be calm, but he couldn't. He leapt to his feet and sprang at the wall, hopping from one side of the pit to the other. When a man appeared who looked like the ranger Woodrow Call, Scull sprang all the harder. He spewed out ^ws in Greek and English, jumping frenziedly about the pit and at the walls. Again and again he jumped, ignoring the rangers' ^ws of calm. He jumped like a flea, like one of the thousands who had tormented him. He had become a flea, his duty to jump and jump, hopping up at the wall, hopping across the pit. Even when ranger Call slid down a rope into the pit and attempted to quiet him, to let him know that he was saved, Inish Scull, the Boston flea, continued to jump and jump.

  Buffalo Hump let the summer pass, resting with his wives, climbing to the spire of rock to pray and meditate. At night around the fire the warriors made songs about the great raid. Hair On The Lip died suddenly; something went wrong inside her. ^w came that Blue Duck was the leader of a gang of renegades, white and half-breed, who killed and robbed along the Sabine River. In July Buffalo Hump went on an antelope hunt far north, near where he had taken the great buffalo whose skull he had used for his shield. He had heard that the antelope were thick in the north, and it was true.

  In one day he killed seven antelope with the bow. Worm made a prophecy about the feat.

  There was no fighting with the whites. The story came from an Apache that Gun In The Water and his friend McCrae had rescued Big Horse from the camp of Ahumado. The Apache said that Big Horse Scull was insane; he jumped around like a flea. The Apache mentioned that Ahumado had cut off Scull's eyelids, which was what had made him insane.

  "No eyelids, what a clever torture," Buffalo Hump said to Slow Tree--it was Slow Tree who had brought him this gossip. When asked about Ahumado, though, Slow Tree grew vague. There were many stories, much speculation, but it had all come from Apaches and Apaches were all liars, Slow Tree reminded him.

  "Tell me the stories anyway," Buffalo Hump said.

  "No one has seen Ahumado all summer," Slow Tree said. "He left his camp at night, through a hole in the mountain. They think he went back to the place he came from, in the south.

  Most people think he died." "What else?" Buffalo Hump asked.

  "Two white men were found stuck on the sharpened trees," Slow Tree said. "No one does that but Ahumado." "Anyone can do it if they want to," Buffalo Hump said. "All they have to do is sharpen a tree and catch a white man, or any man. An Apache could do it. You could do it, if you wanted to. It doesn't mean that Ahumado is alive." "They say a jaguar lives in his camp now," Slow Tree said. "The Texans took away Big Horse Scull and the jaguar came. Some people think he ate Ahumado." "Ho!" Buffalo Hump said. "I have never seen a jaguar. Have you?" Slow Tree was reluctant to answer. He had never seen a jaguar, either, but he was reluctant to admit this to Buffalo Hump. He liked people to think that he was the wisest and most experienced chief, a man who had tasted every plant and killed every animal. He did not like to confess that he had never seen a jaguar.

  "They are very shy," Slow Tree pointed out.

  "They can make themselves invisible, so you cannot see them. They have much power, jaguars." "I know they have much power but I don't think they can make themselves invisible--they are just good at hiding," Buffalo Hump said. "I think I will go south and see this jaguar. Would you like to come with me?" Slow Tree was surprised by Buffalo Hump's invitation. Buffalo Hump had never offered to hunt with him before. Now he was offering to ride with him all the way to Mexico, to see a jaguar. Slow Tree decided on the spot that it was a plot to kill him. Probably Buffalo Hump knew that Slow Tree would kill him, if he ever got a chance to drive a lance through his big hump. But Buffalo Hump was wary: he never slept in Slow Tree's presence, and rarely turned his back to him, even for a moment. Slow Tree knew that Buffalo Hump didn't really like him or respect him; even now Buffalo Hump looked at him with hooded eyes, smiling a little. Buffalo Hump was mocking him, only doing it politely, with just enough regard for ceremony and custom that Slow Tree could not challenge the mockery without appearing to be more touchy than a great chief should be.

  Slow Tree knew that he did not want to go to Mexico with Buffalo Hump--t would be a fatal mistake. He regretted even telling Buffalo Hump the story about the jaguar--once again his own tongue had got him into difficulties.

  Thinking quickly, Slow Tree produced several reasons why it would be imprudent for him to leave on a long trip just then. The buffalo would have to be hunted soon, and they were scarce. Also, one of his wives was dying and he did not want to leave her.

  Buffalo Hump himself had just lost Hair On The Lip--he knew how important it was to stay with a valued wife while she was dying.

  Buffalo Hump pretended to be surprised when Slow Tree began to pile up reasons for not going to Mexico with him.

  "I thought you wanted to see a jaguar," he said, and quickly changed the subject. Of course he hadn't wanted Slow Tree to go in the first place, but it was nice to embarrass him and make him think up lies.

  Later, when Slow Tree left the camp, Buffalo Hump sought out Kicking Wolf--the great horse thief had become discouraged since losing his friend Three Birds. Kicking Wolf hardly left the camp all summer, only going out now and then to hunt. He had not stolen a horse since the theft of the Buffalo Horse; though his vision had improved he still complained, now and then, that he saw two where there was one.

  Buffalo Hump had often found Kicking Wolf irritating, but there was no denying that he was a good horse thief. In the fall it might be wise to raid again, to put more fear in the Texans, but Buffalo Hump suddenly felt like travelling. He wanted to go somewhere, and a chance to see a jaguar was not to be missed. Even if the jaguar was no longer there it would be good to go to Mexico--if Ahumado was gone there might be some villages worth raiding near the Sierra Perdida.

  He found Kicking Wolf not far from his tent, sitting alone, watching some young horses frolic.

  Two of his wives, both large, stout women not noted for their patience, were drying deer meat.

  Kicking Wolf was braiding a rawhide rope.

  The rawhide came from three cows Kicking Wolf had found on the llano, thin cows he had killed and skinned. He was good at braiding rawhide into ropes and hobbles.

  "I have heard of a jaguar--I think we should go try and kill it," Buffalo Hump said. "If we killed such a beast it might clear up your sight." Kicking Wolf had been prepared to be annoyed with Buffalo Hump; the comment took him by surprise. He looked at Buffalo Hump gratefully; they had been good friends when they were boys, but, as they grew older, rivalry made them touchy with one another.

  "My sight is still uncertain," Kicking Wolf acknowledged. "If we were able to kill a jaguar it might clear up." "Then go with me," Buffalo Hump said. "I want to leave right now, before the women try to stop us." Kicking Wolf smiled. "Where is this jaguar?" he asked.

  "In Mexico," Buffalo Hump said. "It lives near where you took the Buffalo Horse." "Slow Tree told me the same thing," Kicking Wolf said. "He is a liar, you know.

  He makes up stories and claims he heard them from Apaches, but he never kills these Apaches, which is what he should be doing." "I know all that," Buffalo Hump assured him. "Let's go anyway. If we don't find the jaguar we can steal some horses on the way back." Kicking Wolf immediately got up and coiled up his rawhide. He seemed eager to leave off braiding the rope.

  "If the jaguar lives in Ahumado's old camp, as Slow Tree claims, where is Ahumado?" he asked.

  "They say he is gone," Buffalo Hump said.

  "Do you believe it?" Kicking Wolf asked.

  "I don't know," Buffalo Hump said.

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p; "He may be gone or he may be waiting for us." "I will go with you," Kicking Wolf said. "I want to see the jaguar and I want to know what happened to Three Birds." "How will you know that--he went with you in the winter," Buffalo Hump pointed out. "If he is dead there won't be much left of him by now." "I intend to look, anyway," Kicking Wolf said.

  Heavy Leg knew Buffalo Hump much better than did his young wife, Lark. Heavy Leg could tell by the way her husband moved, and by the way he looked at the horses, when he was wanting to leave. By the time he came back with Kicking Wolf she had already filled a pouch with dried deer meat, for him to take on his journey.

  She was not allowed to touch his bow or his lance, but she got his paints ready, in case he had to paint himself and go into battle.